


package from a distant memory

by INTPSlytherin_reylove97



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Good Parent Jim "Chief" Hopper, Good Parent Joyce Byers, Hopper is Coming Back For His Family, Hurt/Comfort, Jancy Mentioned, Jim "Chief" Hopper Being Jim "Chief" Hopper, Jim "Chief" Hopper Lives, Minor Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, Post-Season/Series 03, Temporary Amnesia, Will Byers and Eleven | Jane Hopper Are Best Friends, Will Having Powers? More Likely Than You'd Think, missing memories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-11 20:41:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19549066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INTPSlytherin_reylove97/pseuds/INTPSlytherin_reylove97
Summary: Moving was easy.Adjusting to their new normal was harder.Just because the Byers left Hawkins does not mean Hawkins would ever leave them.Especially with a believed to be dead police chief standing on their lawn.---Post Season 3. DON'T READ IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN SEASON 3.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, if you are like me, you binged the entire season and was left distraught eight hours later. Also, you probably don't believe Hopper is dead for various reasons beyond the average denial. With this in mind and needing to mend my broken little heart, I wrote the beginning of this.
> 
> Typos will be fixed later.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

**_October 1985_ **

His uniform was kept in a banker’s box at the top of her closet. Folded neatly with the badge attached on the breast. Untouched since carefully placed there while packing for the big move.

Most of Hopper’s belongings had been housed in her room since…since turning the keys. El cried when she so much glanced at her dad’s records and worn-out boots, so Joyce tucked them away between her faded flannels and t-shirts to prevent anymore heartache for the girl.

Somehow in the midst of packing, Hopper’s uniform, clothes, and records found their way into a box to take with them to the new house. A box marked with his name and his belongings—not quite a shrine, but an illusion close enough to cause Joyce’s heart to stutter for a moment when her eyes scanned over said box as she grabbed her clothes in the morning.

A constant reminder of what she lost— _what they all lost_ —and what could have been if she hadn’t been so stubborn. If she hadn’t waited.

If Hop hadn’t had such a sacrificial heart.

Eyes peeking at the box labeled _Hopper_ in her sloppy scrawl, Joyce grabbed the first flannel she felt and shut the door.

* * *

**_December 1985_ **

_Loveland_ had such a quaint ring to it, no one would think it was a dull little town on the edge of the west Indiana border. Similar to Hawkins, yet just distant enough—both concerning the local community and location—to not be anything like Hawkins.

No one glanced their way with pity or disdain.

No one knew about Will’s disappearance.

No one knew about the craziness surrounding them.

Nope, they were just the Byers family. New to town, liked to keep to themselves, but overall pleasant.

At least, that’s what Jonathan liked to think as he drove his brother and…sister to school every morning. Instead of one taking shot gun, the two thirteen year olds liked to sit side by side in the back, heads bent in deep discussion. Discussion of what? Who knew. All Jonathan understood was the immediate latch between the two, as though Will and El finally found their other half in the other.

Will and _Jane_ (El). Siblings. Almost naturally, if it weren’t for the fact they had zero blood relation at all.

 _Like Luke and Leia_ , Will liked to put. El smiled at that, liking the idea of being Leia.

 _Bitchin_ , she’d mutter at the sentiment.

The boys were quick to introduce her to all their favorite movies, _Star Wars_ amongst them. No surprise she latched on to the smart and powerful Princess Leia, not so subtly hinting Mike was her Han Solo.

Jonathan had to cover his laugh with cough when he heard _that_.

Will, _Jane_ (El), and Jonathan. Also siblings.

It sounded okay. Though the constant need to mentally and verbally correct himself with ‘Jane’ instead of ‘El’ in public was beginning to verge on the brink of ridiculousness. And he always forgot to say he had a sister too. Not that he didn’t care for El as though she were a younger sister…he just never thought he’d have one. It’s always been him, mom, and Will against the world. Adding El wasn’t a problem. It was just different.

Not good, not bad.

Just different.

Different because with El he was still learning how to act around her. How to be her brother and a friend, more than Joyce’s eldest son, Will’s brother, and Nancy’s boyfriend. While under less than stellar circumstances, Jonathan wanted to get to know his new sibling better and not just be another label to her.

“Pretty,” she said, pointing to one of his recently develop photos. El had taken an interest in Jonathan’s photography, never quiet keen to try a hand with the camera herself, but happy to look through his developed photos. He let himself smile as her eyes greedy scanned his newest batch of photos, her face alight in wonder.

He followed her finger to a photo of Nancy. It’d been taken a couple of weeks before 4th of July, before everything went to shit again. A simple photo, just her in his room with her nose in a book. An average Nancy Wheeler image.

Yet El thought it was ‘pretty’—a soft spoken ‘pretty’ with a small smile.

For some reason, the little compliment meant a whole lot.

“Yeah…yeah,” Jonathan murmured, finding himself agreeing with the girl—his sister—quietly, “it is pretty.”

* * *

**_February 1986_ **

Despite his age, Will still made homemade Valentine’s cards for his family.

Call it silly, call it childish, Will honestly did not care on this one little detail. Even with his D&D campaigns gone and childhood memorabilia tucked away to nowhere, Will knew the importance of a homemade Valentine’s card.

“It means you care, especially if you take the time to make it personal,” he recalled his mother telling him whenever he wondered why they didn’t just get the store bought Valentines for his class.

And while his class Valentine exchanges were over, it did not mean he had to completely cease making Valentines all together.

One for Jonathan—a drawing of a camera and flash, with a quick and thoughtful note on the inside.

(His older brother hugged him, though not without squeezing in a hair ruffle from the boy. He tacked it to the wall in his room, everyone able to see it when they walked in.)

One for Mom—a drawing of a big heart and little scattered smiley faces, a simple ‘love you, mom’ on the inside.

(Naturally, his mother cried at the sight of the card. She hugged him and kissed the crown of his head like he was a baby. Will wanted to squirm away from her, but decided to let her pest and dote.)

One for El—her drawn as the mage from D&D with, ‘ _thanks for being the sister I never knew I wanted_ ’ on the inside.

(El—same as Joyce—smiled then cried, she hugging Will far harder than he expected. Will hugged her back just as fiercely.)

And then he made an extra one.

It had a couple of hearts (it was Valentine’s Day after all) and a painstakingly drawn Police Chief’s hat on the front. While Will very well could not give the Chief his card considering the fact he was no longer around, he knew _exactly_ where to place it.

Quietly and carefully, Will went into his mother’s room when he knew she’d be out for work. Grabbing the nearest chair, he hopped up, eye level with the fated box. With a steady hand, he folded the card into fours, smaller and not as noticeable if found. He lifted the lid and dropped the card inside.

A card never to be open, but important nonetheless.

( _Chief,_

_There is no other way to put this but honestly—we miss you. El misses you, Mom misses you, even Jonathan misses you. You sort of looked out for all of us. I don’t think we realized it until you were no longer there. Just because you are not here, doesn’t mean you are gone._

_We wish you were still here with us._

_Will_ )

* * *

**_April 1986_ **

For the sake of many, El tried her best to act fine.

She did her best to adjust to the new normal.

Going to a new school, living with a new family, sleeping in new room.

She had to call Mike on the phone now instead of the walkie, and going into the void was no longer an option when she wanted to check in on any of her friends.

Seeing her friends every few weeks became a routine, she not alone in the suffering, Will her companion in waiting. Patience wasn’t her best skill, but she was learning that some things were worth the wait.

No more special Eggo Extravaganzas were also a new normal to adjust to and not hearing Hop sing off key to music in the morning made her chest hurt. Lost of things about Hop made her chest hurt and her eyes puffy.

Some parts came easier than others, like living with the Byers. She and Will were closer than best friends, he truly feeling like a brother. Slowly but surely, Jonathan was warming up to her. He liked to show her his latest photos and teach her how to cook some basic meals. Apparently all the Byers agreed Eggos were meant as a dessert, not real food much to El’s disappointment.

And Joyce…Joyce loved her how El always imagined a mom would. She braided her hair and helped her pick clothes. They watched cheesy movies together and sad movies together. Joyce held her as she cried—cried over missing Mike, cried over missing her powers, cried over missing Hop. Joyce let her feel all her emotions and talk freely, no judgement in her eyes, only love and understanding.

Acting fine wasn’t an option when Joyce saw through every forced smile and three inch cracked door.

(El didn’t know how to let Joyce know she didn’t always have to be fine too.)

* * *

**_June 1986_ **

“Mom! Have you seen my notebook? It has my final exam notes!” Will called out from outside her bedroom.

Standing before her closet, Joyce’s eyes drifted to the banker’s box for a heavy moment. She tried not to think of how in a month it’d be a year since his death. A flash of year of moving, adjusting to new house dynamics, and simply grieving in her own silent pace. She hadn’t opened the box since moving in, though the thought did linger in her mind more often than not. She just didn’t have the strength to relive memories she was trying to both preserve and hide, nor was there a true reason to go through Hopper’s things.

He was gone. It wasn’t as though he was going to come back from the afterlife looking for his uniform.

“ _Mom_!”

Sighing, Joyce turned to the door tiredly. “Have you checked the living room?” she shouted back. Blindly, she reached for a shirt to change into and shut her closet door.

“Yes!” her son’s voice called out, anxious.

“The dining room?” she suggested, as she grabbed a pair of jeans.

“Come on Will! We gotta go before we are late!” Jonathan’s voice faintly called out.

“ _Yes_!” Will interjected through now his brother and sister’s nagging to hurry up.

With a huff, Joyce threw her clothes on the bed, deciding she was better off looking for the damn notebook herself. Darting out of her bedroom still dressed in her pajamas, Joyce marched past her son. Upon entering his room, she glanced around before noticing the corner of a notebook peeking out from under the bed. Crouching down, she snatched it up and held it to her son. “Did you check under your bed?”

Will’s face fell apologetically. “No…”

Standing up, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t worry sweetie, you will do fine on your final. Now go before you’re late,” she shooed him, following him out into the hall.

By the front door the three were rushing around, El now missing an earring in their chaos to leave. Usually they were running this behind, however the lazy lag of summer already came upon them despite only having a week left.

“Forget the earring, just don’t wear any today,” Joyce recommended, holding her hand out for the other half of the missing pair. El dropped it in her awaiting hand, Jonathan heaving a sigh of exasperation at the sight.

“Come on,” he urged, swinging open the door. He only took a couple of steps before he halted. He sputtered for a moment, shocked still.

Frowning at her son’s sudden stillness, Joyce made her way through her kids and past the door. “Jonathan, what’s—”

All the words died in her throat once she saw, her eyes set on the man standing at the edge of her lawn.

Worn and thinner, with a grizzly beard covering his face was a _dead_ man.

Yet the crinkle of his eyes spoke a truth she never believed to exist.

“H— _Hop_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the prologue is just snapshots of a year from different perspectives to kind of get the idea where our little family is at emotionally. Which is still in mouning for several reasons and adjusting. Some parts were purposely left vague so we can go into more detail later ;)
> 
> Also I don't know if they ever addressed where the Byers were moving, so I just picked a town name I knew elsewhere and slapped it in Indiana.
> 
> Let me know what you think! Comments and kudos are always appreciated; love discussing the fic with readers! :)


	2. Interdimensional Concussion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. UH, THANK YOU EVERYONE.
> 
> I am pleasantly surprised by the response of this fic! I usually don't write for the Stranger Things fandom (except for one Steve/ OC fic I always tell myself to go back to but don't. RIP.), I usually stick in my little Star Wars corner. So thank you for the welcome :D
> 
> Anyways...
> 
> Typos will be fixed later!
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

She couldn’t believe her eyes.

Jim Hopper stood less than seven feet away from her. Breathing. Inhaling and exhaling, she able to identify the sure rise and fall of his chest.

Yet this…this was _impossible_. It had to be impossible. Yet it was difficult to dissuade herself otherwise when the evidence and proof seemingly stood before her. She saw him completely vanish—

Blinking once, then twice… she opened her eyes wide.

He was still there.

Standing at the edge of their lawn.

 _Staring_.

She urges her feet to move, yet they remain glued to the doormat.

And she’s not the only one—Jonathan and Will stand side by side, only a step behind her. Her two boys were also at a total loss of what to do. Possibly wondering if they were all seeing the same thing, a man they believed to be dead in the not-so-far distance. He looked somewhat the same, recognizable yet a bit off.

The _Hop_ she knew would come charging straight ahead, dashing towards them, looking for his daughter. He’d be wrapping them in hugs, silent tears begging to be released as he was just with them, and everything would feel _okay_. Normal for goddamn once.

Instead he watched, not inching forward the longer they stood.

It put her on edge, a spiral of worry and questions looming to the forefront of her mind.

“What is it?”

The sound of El’s voice knocked Joyce back into the present, she suddenly hyperaware of the situation laid out before her.

“Take her back inside,” Joyce quietly ordered to her sons. She didn’t need the poor girl to see this if—

 _No_. No, Joyce need answers before anything. She had her family’s wellbeing to think about. Even if it was Hopper—by god, she pleaded it to be truly Hopper—Joyce _needed_ to know what the hell happened.

“No—I’m staying here,” Jonathan told her stubbornly, his eyes still on the man.

Eyes fluttering with a sharp exhale, she uttered sternly, “Will, take her back inside.”

She heard her son hurry, weakly trying to pull El back into the house before she had enough sense to catch a glimpse of the man. Noticing his brother’s struggle—El was stronger than she let on despite her loss of powers—Jonathan intervened, dragging the two inside against his wishes to stay with Joyce. However that did not stop him from blocking the door, still partially outside with her, but helping keep a fighting El away.

Not caring if her socks were going to get soaked on the grass, Joyce stood tall and walked slowly over to the man. As she came closer, her feet sure in every step, she noticed the tension in his body. Ramrod straight, hands tucked into his pockets, his eyes focused on her. His over grown beard covered most of the lower half of his face, though she could see the worry of his bottom lip between his teeth. His hair had gotten out of hand, brushing his ears. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he looked like a damn hippie—the one’s his grandfather would always complain about after his shift at the station. A large dark jacket hung on his frame, sticking out like a sore thumb in the heat of June. However the fabric obscured his stature enough, making him appear like any down on his luck man on the street.

He looked far more broken than Joyce had ever seen him. And she’d already seen him at what she believed to be his low.

With only a few feet between them, she stopped, tilting her head up to meet his gaze.

Fear and confusion shined back at her, as though she’d turn him away.

Subconsciously she held her hands up and out to him, almost as though she could hold him back, or optimistically an offering of peace with understandable hesitance.

Inhaling deeply, she decided to speak, feeling her throat constrict. “Hop—is that _really_ you?” her words were barely above a whisper.

A heavy sigh escaped him as relief consumed his face. His eyes grave and tearful, a near reflection of what she saw before she turned the keys.

“Oh, Hop,” Joyce croaked, hands clamping over her mouth as the reality of him being there settled over her. Her hands shook, too afraid to touch him—afraid he’d vanish into thin air if she even shuffled an inch closer.

Apparently he must have felt the same, Hop’s hands now frozen at his sides, also unsure if he was able to reach for her.

“ _Move_!”

A violent shove and shuffling from the front door caused the two to break their gaze. Whipping around, Joyce saw El break through Will and Jonathan’s hold, running down the steps in a scuttle.

“Honey—" Joyce attempted to catch her, hold her back.

However El dodged her, ducking under her arms and stumbling to a stop before Hopper. Her heavy breaths filled the quiet morning, she staring at her father. A unbelieving grin bloomed on her face, shaking laughter escaping the girl.

“I—I knew it! I knew it couldn’t be true. I just couldn’t!” El uttered between breaths, tears streaming down her face. Reckless abandon, she dove for a hug, tiny thin arms wrapping around his middle. She squeezed and held, face buried in his chest.

Hopper on the other hand, stood still, arms hovering over the girl.

Panic eyes met Joyce’s, putting her on alert.

_Why wasn’t he hugging his daughter back?_

Blindly, Joyce reached for El, eyes still locked on Hopper. “Honey, why don’t you let him—”

“Dad, I knew you couldn’t have been dead,” El sobbed into him, crumpling more the longer she grasped him desperately.

Hopper’s eyes widen, head shaking. Large shaky hands gently rested on El’s shoulders, easing her away. Eyes searching her face, he blinked, puzzled. “I…I’m sorry but…” his eyebrows furrowed, “aren’t you the kid with the powers?”

Joyce felt the air knocked out of her at those words.

“Wha…” El pulled away, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. Staring back at her father, she gapped at him as a horrified breath broke through her. “You don’t…you don’t know—”

Finally Joyce grasped her wrist, lightly pulled her away. “ _El_ —”

“You are the kid with the powers,” Hopper stated surely, “I’ve been—I was looking for you, leaving Eggos—”

El shook her head furiously, “No, that—that was years ago,” she said brokenly, looking back at Joyce frantically, “ _That was years ago_ ,” she stressed back to her, clasping her forearms tightly.

Confused, Joyce glanced back and forth between father and daughter. El cries continued, clutching on to Joyce for dear life and hiding her tear stained face into her shoulder.

“Honey, I—” Joyce looked back up at Hop, he broken and frustrated over the sight before him. “Hop, what happened? What do you mean you—”

“ _OH MY GOD_!” Came a frantic cry from down the street. “ _OH MY GOD—HOW DO YOU RUN SO FAST YOU BEAST_!”

Letting go of El, Joyce ran out to the road, the rest of her family following.

There a few yards away, running with all his might was a disheveled Illinois conspiracy theorist. He still didn’t know how to run, his trademark beard and glasses were well intact.

“Is that…?” Jonathan said, as though his greatest annoyance and fears merged into one.

Gaping, Joyce nodded, eyebrows furrowed together.

“Well, fuck,” her eldest mutter, she feeling the sentiment. Any time Murray was involved, they were in for some unsolicited advice and unrivaled government paranoia.

Cupping her hands together, Joyce shouted, “ _Murray_!”

“OH DEAR GOD,” he shouted again, coming closer. Panting and heaving, he dropped to his knees before the family. “For being locked up for almost a good year, your lover man sure does know how to escape,” he gasped out between breaths. “Eh, I need to get into shape,” he bemoaned.

“Escape?” Will asked curiously. Beside him, El clutched his arm, frown and stance unmoving.

“Yeah,” Murray griped, hands braced on his knees. A harsh finger was jabbed in Hopper’s direction, he standing on the edge of the curb. “I told you to wait! To wait for me—”

“Well I don’t have time to wait for you to pick up coffee and donuts at a general store when you _just told me_ where they were,” Hopper growled. “I was gonna find them!”

“My god, keep your voice down! Anyone can hear you!” Murray ordered, rubbing his face. His eyes darted between the four faces. He winced when he saw El glaring at him with unrelenting fury. “Oh no, you are all here—”

“What happened to my Dad?” El questioned lowly, taking a step forward.

Joyce’s arm flew out, holding her daughter back from doing something she’d regret. Just because she no longer had her powers, didn’t mean El wasn’t a scrappy little fighter.

“Murray—explain,” Joyce ordered, chin held high and eyes a flame with both anger and fierce protection. “ _Now_.”

“It’s kind of a long story… one that involves a lot of Russians and explosions and—”

“What date is it?” Hopper interjected, his voice far firmer than it had been early and face locked in frustrated puzzlement. “You haven’t said anything and I am tired of waiting—you said you would explain everything once we here—well were here. And everyone doesn’t…no one looks how I remember!”

Murray exhaled a broken wince, looking between Joyce, then Hopper, then El, then back to Joyce as though she’d have the answers.

Taking the bullet, Jonathan turned to Hopper, eyes shining with both disbelief and sudden pity. “You…you don’t know the date—what do _you_ think it is?”

Hopper shook his head, realization donning on his face. His eyes screwed shut, he taking step back. Furiously his hands scrubbed his face. “ _This can’t be happening, fucking shit, this can’t be happening…”_ he mumbled over and over.

“I think it’s best we go inside,” Murray said apologetically. “It’s not really a conversation to have in the middle of the street.”

* * *

“ _Russia_?” Joyce questioned incredulously.

Before Murray she stood with her hands firm on her hips as she paced up and down her dining room. She forced him to take a seat at the table, all the Byers surrounding him with matching looks of ferocity and a stern pinch of the lips. They were a terrifying clan when all joined together.

“You’re telling me somehow during the explosion with the closing of the gate and the turning of the keys, the energy pulled Hopper through a tear in the dimensions?”

“Yes,” Murray said, nodding slowly, already tired of this conversation.

“Don’t talk,” Joyce ordered, halting her pacing. “I’m still absorbing this.” She crossed her hands over chest, lips quirking side to side as she considered the next part of the story she was forcing herself to understand. “And through this tear, he landed in the Russian side of the gate. They find his there, capture him and hold Hop hostage for almost a year?”

“That’s what I said less than two minutes ago—”

Joyce whirled around him, pointing a stern finger down at him. “ _I am talking_ —you are _listening_. Now shhhh!”

Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, face screwing up as she became befuddled by the next series of events. “But that doesn’t explain how he escaped!” Her hands threw in the air in frustration, flopping pathetically by her sides.

“Mom, it’s Hopper,” Will said quietly, though admiration and faith evident in his voice. “He always finds a way.”

Eyes closed, she smiled at her son’s words, knowing his innocent hope had been tainted though not destroyed to nothing. “Honey, I know—but he was held in a government facility in another country. Pieces aren’t adding up.”

“My theory is he escaped how he came, through the rift,” Murray interjected holding his hands up in surrender. “It’s the only way that we know of.”

Jonathan glanced towards the living room where Hopper sat with his back to them. A few feet behind him, El stood guard in the doorway. Not once did she take her eyes off of him for one second yet keenly aware of the conversation occurring in the dining room.

“Does _he_ remember how he got here?” Jonathan asked, leaning against the table with his arms crossed defensively.

Murray winced, waving his hand side to side. “Eh, sort of. He only knows he went through a tear in the dimension, knowing it connect to this whole upside down business.”

“But he doesn’t remember anything else?” Jonathan pressed.

“Only little bits of information that give very little help,” the theorist said with a dejected sigh. “I think going through these dimension tears and whatnot jumbled his brain a bit—like a little interdimensional concussion.”

All three Byers blinked at him.

“A ‘little interdimensional concussion’?” Joyce repeated heavily, eyes sharp as steel on him, “A concussion happens when you accidentally bump your head too hard or you get smacked in the head with a ball—he can’t fucking remember his own daughter, Murray!” she hissed, hands braced on the table, she leaning determinedly towards him “ _He doesn’t remember the last three years_! It is damn more than ‘a little interdimensional concussion’! It’s _amnesia_!”

“Easy, Joyce,” Murray muttered, hands up higher and close to his, almost in a near cower. “He does remember _some_ things—after all, he had enough sense to find me to help him find you guys,” he reminded her lightly, “so not all is lost. It’s just…hidden in the depths of his brain now.”

Her head dropped with a groan. Lifting her head back up, Joyce backed away, her eyes focused on the floor.

Damn. She was still in her pajamas, her socks soaked from the grass and she already sweating thoroughly through her flannel sleeping pants. Rubbing her eyes, she shook her head. “I need a shower and to call in sick—and the _kids_ ,” she turned towards Jonathan and Will, “One of you needs to call the school—”

“And tell them what?” Jonathan prompted.

“I don’t know! There is a death in the family?” she said with a shrug already walking away. She needed a breather from all of this and a shower. Yeah, a shower would be nice at the moment. Finally to be alone in a room where she could think without her kids staring at her to solve all the problems in the world.

“More like a resurrection,” Jonathan muttered, but heading towards the phone nonetheless.

“Just call,” she ordered tiredly. Nodding her head for Will to follow her, she pulled her son and El to the corner of the hall to speak with them privately. “I need a moment alright—Can you guys make sure they don’t leave, _at all_?”

Both nodded furiously, sharing a silent glance with each other.

“Of course, Mom,” Will assured her with a forced smile, “I don’t think they would leave if we forced them to anyways.”

“Okay, okay,” she muttered to herself. Squeezing their shoulder once, she left to the bathroom, hoping a warm shower would calm her down.

* * *

“Staring at him like he is some monkey at the zoo is not going to solve your problems,” Murray said, coming up behind the three teens. “Why don’t one of you try talking to him—maybe jog is memory.”

“He doesn’t know me,” El uttered darkly, sending Murray another glare over her shoulder. “There is nothing to jog.” Both boys cringed at the truth and her misinterpretation of amnesia.

At the sight, the older man shuffled closer to Jonathan. “How about you?”

“I hardly know him,” the eldest Byers child confessed. “He and mom were always close, and El’s his daughter. But Hopper and I…” he shrugged helplessly, almost apologetically, “he and I never connected like that.”

Silence fell over the group, watch Hopper from the distance of the doorway. The man had examined the room with mild interest, picking up a few photos here and there.

He held on to one with him and El. Jonathan took it after the Snowball a few years back, Hopper demanding it given to him and for no one else to see it. Protection of El was still at its height and no one (except for Mike) tried to go against the Chief’s word.

The large man looked both out of place and perfectly fitting in their home. It was almost as though Hopper was always meant to be there at some point, if not from the beginning. Picking up a book sitting on the coffee table, he took a seat in the corner of the sofa.

His eyes darted to them every so often, sighing with annoyance at their staring before resuming his own quiet perusing.

“I’ll talk to him,” Will offered, glancing back the three with his own hesitant smile. “I mean he and I weren’t close like him and El…but I know him. He did help Mom with finding me,” he said, a brief pain flashing in his eyes.

Only getting small nods and blinks of approval, Will entered the living room. Watching Hopper carefully and calculatingly, he sat on the armchair to the side of the sofa. Now closer, Will noticed the former police chief actually had two pictures in his hands—one of him and El, the other a picture of him and Mom.

Will’s smile grew as he recognized it. “She forced you to take that picture,” he said pointing to the one in Hopper’s left hand. “Mom always complained she never had a decent picture of you.”

“I hate taking pictures,” Hopper said with a tired gravel in his voice.

Will’s lips quirked to the side. “We know.”

It was difficult to find just the few they had after his apparent passing. Only having his official Hawkins’ Police Department photo felt inadequate. After all, Hopper was _family_. Joyce had scavenged through all their belongings, only finding five amongst her and El’s possessions.

“You two took that one last March,” Will explained, hands clasped together, fiddling, “It was at the Easter lunch we had together.”

Hopper’s eyebrows jumped. “Easter lunch?” The confusion was understandable; he wasn’t a highly religious man.

Will nodded. “El wanted to celebrate and go egg hunting so we had it at the cabin since she couldn’t go anywhere then—you’re a bit protective of her.” Hopper spared a glance behind them, Jonathan, Murry, and El, the latter watching their interaction with guarded eyes and baited breath. “So Mom insisted you two take a photo together because you actually looked decent.”

Hopper’s eyes narrowed on him, offense taken. “Oh really?”

The fourteen year old gulped, “I mean—Mom’s words, not mine. You always look great, Chief,” his compliment stuttered out pathetically.

Frantic, Will looked back over to the three pleadingly. He was met with a shaking heads and silent, apologetic ‘no’s. Rolling his eyes, he turned back to Hopper.

The older man watched him with sharp, stern eyes. “Kid, I know you are trying to make me feel better or make me remember—”

“Uh—”

“I’m not an idiot. I can here you guys clearly from over here,” Hopper said deadpanned, his voice just above the silence consuming the house. “I get it—you want to help. You always had a good heart and head on your shoulders. But it’s not going to work,” he said with a defeated sigh. “I’ll just wait for your mom, okay?” he said with little room for argument. “She’ll explain things—like the having the daughter part. It doesn’t sound like me; I have no time for a kid, not to mention I’m a helpless father,” he said with an empty laugh, the pain in the quiet statement.

Well, that certainly was a punch in the gut.

Hoping to not appear as dejected as he felt, Will nodded faintly. “Oh, okay,” he mumbled, slowly getting up from the chair.

As he started walking away, he paused. Swallowing, he turned back to Hopper, chin held high—little did he know a mirror image of his mother from moments ago. “I know you are upset and confused but…but you meant the world to them,” he nodded to the pictures in Hopper’s hands. “And you weren’t a helpless father—you were the best thing El ever had. I hope one day you see that,” Will told him quietly, only loud enough for Hopper to hear.

The older man froze, before licking his lips with a subtle shake of his head. “You sound like…” he trailed off, eyes shutting. He didn’t continue his statement, instead just sitting there with himself. “Damn, I need a smoke.”

Will had the decency to walk away, rolling his eyes at the mumbled statement.

Yeah, Hopper didn’t remember the last few years but he was still the same stubborn and grumbling police chief.

* * *

“What the hell are you doing?” Joyce asked when she saw Jonathan hurriedly punching a phone number on the phone.

“Calling Nancy—”

“No!” she hissed, batting his hand away from the phone. Once in her hand, she hung up the phone and immediately ripped the cord from the cradle. “ _No_ —we are not calling anyone right now.”

Jonathan gapped at her, tempted to snatch the wire back from her. “She and the rest of them can help,” he shot back. “Don’t we want help? Because this isn’t just Hopper to worry about. There are still rifts leading to the Upside Down—”

“And we will handle everything one step at a time,” Joyce argued, quickly coiling the cord in her hand and setting it on the kitchen counter. “Like focusing on Hopper and how this is effecting your sister—”

“You mean how it is effecting you?” Jonathan told her smartly, arms crossed defiantly over his chest.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Joyce huffed. “How it is effecting _all_ of us,” she amended, “and calling Nancy and the boys is not going to help, Jonathan. In fact it might make things worse, with all the hell Hawkins is in right now.”

It was no secret more outsiders were becoming enraptured by the chaos and horror surrounding Hawkins, Indiana. The apparent ‘chemical spill’, the lab being shut down, and the mass ‘mysterious’ deaths of nearly half the town population caused many eyes to suddenly hyper focused on the little nowhere town. Jonathan and Joyce had the unfortune pleasure of hearing from Nancy of the many newcomers arriving in Hawkins, many with… for the lack of better terms, radical beliefs.

_“They think the town is Satanic,” Nancy had winced out when she visited a few weeks back, “the new mayor is trying to cover it up and bring the town moral up but…it really difficult to do when our police force is in shambles since…” she shrugged, not needing to say it. “It’s good you left when you did. Who knows how they’d treat Will or El.”_

“We just need to focus on what we can do,” Joyce said softly, resting a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Which is helping Hopper—he’s the only one who might have any real answers to all of this.”

While he disagreed with his mother’s tactics, Jonathan nodded. “Alright…so what do we do?”

“We help him get settled."

* * *

“You’re probably tired, Hop,” Joyce said brightly as she entered the living room, El following a few steps behind. She had a couple of sheets and a towel in her arms. Behind her, El held a pillow and an old flannel that once belonged to Hop along with a pair of large pajama bottoms that had seen better days. “So why don’t you go ahead and use the bathroom to freshen up, and I’ll have the boys go pick up some necessities for you. Does that sound alright?”

He looked at her with aggravation, face scrunching angrily. “Come on, Joyce. Don’t talk to me like that.”

She feigned surprised, a telling smile of fake confusion on her lips. “I have _no idea_ what you are talking about.”

“Talking to me like I am idiot,” he said with a huff, his large shoulders shaking. He stood up, towering over the lot of them, and took the proffered towel. “I just don’t remember shit—I’m not a _child_.”

“You could have fooled me,” Joyce snapped almost automatically, eyebrows raised.

His eyes narrowed, lips held tightly together, as thought holding himself back from snapping. “Where’s the restroom?” he gritted out.

“Down the hall to the left,” she answered.

Listening he began to follow his directions, shoulder hunched in on himself.

“And Hop,” she called out, causing him to glance back at her, “I handled you like this once before, grumpy and moody—I’m not afraid to do it again.”

His eyebrows now rose, matching her.

“When you come back, we’ll talk then,” she said, chin held high.

Pausing for a moment, jaw tightening, Hopper nodded in understanding before heading towards the direction of the bathroom.

Once he was gone, all pretenses of confidence gradually slipped away from her. No longer was she firm and resilient Joyce, now she was just a woman hoping her mourning and pain could reconcile with the spark of joy she felt at the sight of him.

A small hand rested on her shoulder. Glancing back, Joyce smiled tiredly at El.

“It’ll be okay, Mama,” El mumbled, pulling Joyce into hug from behind. “He’ll come back. I know it.”

Yes. It will be okay.

Joyce would make sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, Hopper has amnesia. Which sucks. But things shall get better once this little family teaches Hopper how to feel all over again and get him out of the cave. 
> 
> AND MURRAY! He's all here for the potential Jopper-ness, hahaha.
> 
> Expect some more bickering Hopper and Joyce in the future :)
> 
> Let me know what you think! Comments and kudos are always appreciated; love discussing the fic with readers!
> 
> You can also follow me on tumblr @intp-slytherin97 or on twitter @intpslytherin97


	3. We Like Eggos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to me for thinking this would be something small, like five chapters, when I knew it would be more XD
> 
> A new POV is introduced and I think y'all will like it :)
> 
> Typos will be fixed later. 
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

He stood under the shower head far longer than probably acceptable.

However this was his first shower in—

Well, truth be told, he wasn’t too sure. All he knew was he wreaked. Week, maybe months, of grime embedded into his skin. Furiously he scrubbed at his arms, legs, and neck, making minimal progress. The sopping wash cloth rubbed aggressively into his flesh, tinging it red with his efforts. Groaning, he tossing it aside and let the water run over him, as though it would clear the opaque confusion clouding his mind.

The warm water relaxed his muscles, and caused his eyes to finally shut for the first time since he found Murray in fucking Illinois. A eight hour long trek by foot through the damn trees in the middle of the night, but a journey necessary to figure what the hell was happening, and where the hell he’d been.

He wasn’t too sure how he knew the lunatic’s address—he could not recall the former journalist telling him, yet somehow he knew the way.

One foot after the other he walked and walked. He walked until he reached the hideaway, his mind working on autopilot, until he pressed the buzzer.

Then his body decided enough was enough, and he passed out. A nice, unwilling slumber. Dreamless, thoughtless, maybe only an hour long when it was interrupted by Murray’s cries of distraught disbelief and bright flashlight searing into Jim’s dizzy eyes.

Sleep.

Sleep would be nice at the moment, and he almost collapsed into its clutches once more…

A sharp knock on the bathroom door dashed such thoughts away in an instant.

“Hop,” Joyce called out from the other side, “You okay in there? It’s…” he heard her feet shuffle, noticing her vague shadow from under the door, “It-‘s just you’ve been in there a while and Murray mentioned you hitting your head—”

“I’m fine,” he called out, shutting the water off in tandem. “Completely fine,” he said with more bite than necessary. Shoving the translucent shower curtain aside, he reached for the towel on the bathroom counter.

An aggravated huff came from behind the door. A stereotypical annoyed Joyce huff; a comfortable thorn in his side.

By the edge of the tub, Jim watched it with a stern furrow. Part of him expected her to barge in with little modesty, the other expected her to simple walk away.

Contrary to both, her shadow remained by the door.

“Well, you can help yourself to whatever you need, if you haven’t already,” her shadow shifted from foot to foot. “Like that beard—it’s really kind of gross Hop.”

“Thank you for your input on my grooming,” he grumbled loudly, “didn’t know I need to up keep when I was captured by some commies!”

“ _Hop_.” He imagined her face pensive and aggravated, almost as though she wanted to roll her eyes and slap him all at the same time. But she didn’t, and she couldn’t when on the other side. “It was just a suggestion and I know for a fact you probably hate that— _thing_ —on your face!”

Drying off his hair and beard last, he wrapped the towel around his hips, and turned to face the mirror. With the palm of his hand, he wiped at the fogged up glass, meeting his reflection.

Tilting his head side to side slowly, Jim realized _maybe_ Joyce had a point. The beard was unkept, hair growing in all directions, covering the entire lower half of his face. Stripes of gray and faded dark blonde were uneven.

It was the longest he’d ever grown it. Almost a rough blanket, obscuring his face.

Needless to say, he was not too fond of it.

Opening the mirror, he found a razor. Covering his hand with soap, he lathered his chin and cheeks sloppily, making sure just enough water covered his face.

Watching his own reflection, he lifted his shaky hand to begin to shave.

Only to nick himself on the first try.

And then on the second, and third.

His damn hand did not know how to calm the hell down, shaking like a leaf in a windstorm.

“ _Damn it!”_ he growled, chucking the razor into the halfway full sink.

“Jim!” Joyce knocked repeatedly. “Is everything okay? What happened? Are you—”

He flung open the bathroom door, catching it before it slammed against the wall.

Fist poised for another series of insistent knocks, Joyce stood frozen before him— _gaping at him._ Briefly her eyes darted down, only to dart back up just as quickly. A hint of a flush splattered her cheeks, she scratching the back of neck as though she totally had not been _looking_ at him in such a way.

Huh.

Hop wondered when that happened.

When did Joyce suddenly became a blushing school girl around him? She’d always be willing to go toe to toe with him, especially in their youth, without batting an eyelash. Sure there’d been glances, most notably on his side—could anyone blame him?—and she seemed to be oblivious.

Except for now.

Now it seemed as though she were hyperaware of him, in almost every way.

“Hop—you’re bleeding,” she uttered, all flustered pretenses gone. Instead she been replaced Making her way in, she shut the door behind her, small hands already clutching at his face to examine him. “What happened to your face?” Removing a hand, her nose scrunched at the blood on her hand. Grabbing a near by hand towel, she damped it and wiped the blood away.

He leaned his neck back, getting out of her grip. “I was shaving,” he gritted.

“Clearly not well.” She motioned to the toilet. “Sit—I’ll help you.”

“No, no, no,” Jim shook his head, hands in defense, “I am a grown man—I can shave my own damn face.”

Pursing her lips, nodded once, hands on her hips. Glancing over to the sink, her eyes became alight. “Alright, if you can do it, show me.”

“Show you?”

“Show me,” she said again, with a hint of smugness.

Stubborn, he picked up the razor again. With the utmost focus, he stared in the mirror, the blade hovering over a section of hair.

Bringing the razor closer, his hand began to shake.

And then—

“ _Shit_!” he growled, dropping the razor back into the sink. Another nick to add to his other three; his face would look like a bloody mess by the time he finished. His hands landed on the edge of the sink, gripping with unbridled fury. “ _The fucking razor…piece of shit…fuck_ ,” he muttered under his breath, his gaze locked on the facet instead of the woman less than two feet away.

“Hop,” she sighed apologetically, a hand resting on his bare shoulder. When he ignored her, she gentle urged him to the toilet seat. She picked up the hand towel she discarded, and passed it to him. “Wipe your face,” she ordered quietly.

From his seat on the toilet, he watched as she drained the water in the sink, grabbed the razor, and filled it back halfway. Setting the razor aside, she pulled her dark hair into a low ponytail, away from her face. The stands dangled below her shoulder blades, her hair far longer than he remembered. She looked younger with her hair pulled back, Jim recalling how she’d always have her hair in ponytails and braid growing up, hair away from her face instead hiding behind it.

Grabbing the razor, she faced him with determination. “Just sit still and don’t complain.”

Jim’s eyebrows jumped up, eyeing her curious. “And you know how to shave?”

“Who do you think taught Jonathan?” she shot back, her left hand grasping his chin fiercely. She barely had a few inches over him, only a head taller than him when he sat down. “Certainly not Lonnie,” she muttered darkly. Her eyes roved over his face, examining his chin and jaw like some pensive sculptor.

Begrudgingly, Jim followed Joyce’s orders, sitting as still as possible. With warry eyes, he watched her handywork from his peripherals.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Joyce.

He did. That’s why he went looking for her.

He simply did not trust her with a sharp blade that close to his neck.

A careful and steady stroke down on his cheek rendered his thoughts silent. He listened to the faint rattled of Joyce cleaning the razor in the water before the blade touched his skin again and cleared another stipe of unruly hair.

“When my dad was sick, I use to shave for him,” she said, answering his unspoken question. Easily, she fell into a pattern—a steady stroke, a tap and slosh of cleaning, and then back to another stroke, wiping his face with a damp towel every other motion. “The chemo really made him weak, but he believed in clean shaven faces. Veteran and whatnot,” she mumbled, her lips twitch at the thought. “So every other day, right before I left for school, I’d shave his face.”

He didn’t know that. He knew Joyce’s father, Mark Horowitz, passed away a month after they graduated from high school. However, no one knew the cause of his apparent illness. He simply was mum on the matter, still going about his days as though the town didn’t know he was dying.

Anyone would have to be an idiot to not hear the whispers whenever Joyce walked by—

_“Poor little Joycie—mother ran off, and father sick. Such a sad thing.”_

Jim felt like an idiot not realizing, all these years later, it’d been cancer to claim her good o’le dad’s life.

“I didn’t—”

Her grip on his chin tightened; surely there’d be a bruise there tomorrow. “What did I say?”

Huffing, he kept his mouth shut and let her continue her meticulous work.

Soon enough he felt the humidity of the bathroom brush against the thin skin of his cheekbones as more hair was removed from his face. A pair of scissors were involved at some point, Joyce cutting the longer sections of his beard until she only had a close shave to contend with instead of an untamable behemoth.

He tensed as she tilted his head back, getting along his neck, highly aware of some important arteries located in the general area. At some point, her hands paused, Jim simply sensing the warmth of her hands hovering by his neck. Not moving but just still, her eyes focused on his collarbone.

“Joyce,” he mumbled lightly.

Blinking furiously, she shook her head, brought from her stupor. “Um—yeah. Sorry, zoned out there for a moment.” With gentle and steady hands she finished, his initial worries eased away as she nearly completed her task.

“There,” she murmured as she wiped away lingering excess hair from his face, “all done.” She took a moment to observe her work with a satisfied half smile. Yet the longer she stared at him, the smile in her eyes and lips faded into a watery gaze.

“Joyce…”

Ducking her head down, she forced a shaky smile and stepped back. Quietly, she set the razor back on the counter and released the water in the sink. As she busied herself with cleaning, Jim could not help but feel rejected by her silent deflection.

Wiping with the meat of his hand, Jim felt the flesh of his chin and jaw for the first time in what seemed to be forever.

Maybe it was forever considering how the kid’s had grown.

Hesitantly, he stood back up and faced the mirror—

And tried not to recoil at the sight.

All his facial hair was _gone_.

Just his face. Without a beard, without a mustache. Just his own flesh staring back.

He hadn’t had a clean shave since before Sara’s death.

“I didn’t know what was best to do, so I just shaved it all off,” Joyce confessed, standing to the side. Her arms were over her chest, almost making herself smaller as a form of an apology. “You usually only had a short beard and shadow; thought it would be best to let you start from scratch again and I was not going to leave you with that damn caterpillar on your upper lip again.”

“A caterpillar?” Jim uttered in both curiosity and disgust.

Nodding dramatically, she hummed in confirmation. “Yes, Hop. You grew a mustache.”

“Really?”

“Magnum PI style,” she muttered with an eyeroll.

“Magnum PI’s the best.”

“Hop, _don’t_.”

He tried his best to hide a smirk at her exasperation, focusing back on his own reflection. She didn’t do a half bad job, better than most men he’d suppose. Clean shaven, he looked a good few years young and maybe the slightest bit more put together despite the subtle asshole appearance it gave him.

His _hair_ on the other hand…

“I look like a damn hippie,” he uttered with complete disgust. He pawed at the shoulder length hair, highly aware of it now with his beard gone. The sound of his grandfather’s grumbles of hippies came to the forefront of Jim’s mind, he looking like the old man’s worst nightmare.

A loud snort and spills of chuckles came from Joyce, she slapping a hand over her mouth. Inhaling deeply, she attempted to calm herself down, face flush with mirth.

“I—um—I can take care of that if you want,” she picked up the scissors waving them a little careless in the air, “I mean, if you want to.”

“Yes,” Jim grumbled, adding, “please.”

“Of course.”

* * *

“They’ve been in there for a while,” Jonathan muttered, glancing back down the hall where he’d last seen his mother.

Lounging across the couch—making himself far too comfortable for _anyone’s_ comfort—the theorist shrugged, “Maybe they are finally shacking it up,” Murray declared, bored by the conversation.

The boys looked back at him with disgust, while El merely seemed confused by the term.

“Come on,” he said, annoyed by their ignorance, “like you don’t notice the eye sex—”

“ _Eye_ … _sex_?” El repeated slowly. She turned back to Jonathan, face scrunched up. “What does ‘ _eye-sex_ ’ mean?”

His eyes widen, at a totally loss. “Uh—er—it means nothing El.”

“It means your parents want to bang because that’s all think about when they look at each other,” Murray interjected. “I even suggested it before…well before all crazy shit happened.”

“EW!” Will cried out, “I don’t want to think about Mom with Hopper like that—she’s _my mom_.”

Jonathan looked torn; relieved his mother was moving on from Bob yet horrified as the image of his mom and Hopper…doing _things_ , was now seared into his brain. Shaking his head, he glared at Murray. “It doesn’t matter—Hopper doesn’t remember anything from the last few years.”

“According to my sources, he’s liked her for more than a few years,” he contradicted astutely.

“And who are your sources?” Jonathan questioned, channeling his inner Nancy Wheeler.

Murray’s eyes narrowed, “None of your business, kid.”

“Does…Mike give me ‘eye-sex’?” El suddenly asked, deep in thought.

Jonathan whirled around back to her. “He better not.”

“Ew!” Will groaned again, dropping his head into the pillow resting on his lap. “Can we please stop talking about banging and sex and every other euphemism!”

“Who’s talking about sex?”

Everyone’s head whipped to the living room entrance, Joyce standing there as she dried off her hands. A couple of used and damp towels hung off her arm, along with Hopper’s laundry.

“No one,” Jonathan said, leaning back against wall as casually as possible.

Joyce raised an eyebrow, not quite believing his apparent nonchalance. “Did you get what I asked for?” she asked instead.

“Uh, yeah,” Jonathan pushed off the wall, walking over to the dining table. He began to rummage through the bags, she able to see some clothing and tooth brush in the mix. “I guessed on some sizes, but I don’t think he’ll care.”

“Good, good,” she nodded, “you can go ahead and pass them to him in the bathroom.”

As Jonathan gathered the bag he paused, glancing back up at him mom apprehensively. “Uh—how…how is he?”

Joyce blinked, surprised by the question. “Um, Hop’s okay. Still the same as he was when he got here, just groomed now.”

“Good,” her son uttered awkwardly, “and _nothing_ else?”

“Why would there be anything else?” Her eyes narrowed slightly, curious and confused by the question.

“No—no reason, just a question,” he sputtered out.

“Okay,” she elongated, “then, I’m going to go out back and do laundry.” She jutted her thumb behind her.

Jonathan nodded, watching as his mother went out the back door to the laundry room connected to the back end of the house. She seemed calmer than usual, though a part of Joyce was always on edge. Always anxious. Jonathan didn’t blame her; his mother had enough turmoil in her life to cause the most stable person to crack under pressure.

Coming over to the dining area, Will sighed sagely, eyes shining with understanding. “All you can think about is if Mom and Hopper really might have something, huh?”

“Don’t Will,” Jonathan muttered, grabbing the bag and marching down the hall to the bathroom.

Sure, if his mother apparently liked Hopper, then yeah, he wanted her to be happy.

But this wouldn’t make her happy—not with Hopper coming back from the dead and unable to recall the last few years. Not when she’d been in quiet mourning the last year over a man who’d been her, for the lack of better term, best friend and raising his daughter as one of her own. Not when he heard her muffle her sobs in the shower or in her pillow when she though no one was awake.

No.

This would only bring more unrelenting hurt to his mother before it brought proper joy.

And Jonathan wasn’t too sure if he wanted to be a witness.

“Do either of you have a tape recorder and a free wall?” Murray called from the living room. “And vodka. Lots of vodka.”

* * *

As soon as she entered the laundry room, Joyce collapsed against the shut door. A heavy, dry sob escaped her, wracking her entire body as she struggled to breathe.

Sliding down the door, she let the towels and clothes fall from her grasp.

It was easy to be with Jim.

Hell, she forgotten how easy it was to just talk and bicker with him. About nothing and everything. About their kids, about Hawkins, about the latest _Cheers_ episode. She forgot how she could just be there in silence with him and, if she was stern enough, he wouldn’t make a peep and let her be.

She forgotten how easily she could simply be _Joyce_ with him.

Until reality set back in.

He didn’t know El beyond the kid with the freaky powers. And it was evident he could not comprehend how he became the father for a telekinetic teenage girl. Upon mentioning the girl, briefly, he’d tense up. A complete Hopper shut down, he resuming grunts and more mumbles than usual.

It was as though the girl caused a flare inside him that neither could comprehend.

And the scar.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the jagged scar on his right, running from an inch or two above the base of his neck, down the stretch of his collarbone. For as long as she knew him, Jim had never had such a gruesome scar. Not that he parade such markings around, but she was aware of his injures and scarring they’d cause.

From the healing of his flesh, it was not a fresh cut. Instead, it must have been months old.

Must have happened between his disappearance and couple of months back in order to already be mere mark on his skin.

She found it jarring to know life continued for him, despite not remembering. Life continued and he was locked away, kept from them for a year.

 _A whole damn year_.

A year of comforting El. Of smiling at her boys when all she wanted to do was find a way to feel at home again.

Year of looking at that damn box every single goddamn morning.

All for him to come back and not remember a damn thing.

Scrubbing her face with the palm of her hand, Joyce gradually stood back up and gathered the laundry. Eyes red and face weary, she threw her towels into the awaiting washing machine. She reached for the soiled and grimy shirt and pants, her hands clutching them for moment, as though she could gain Hop’s lost memories through osmosis.

Biting her lip, she turned the shirt inside out and threw it into the machine. As she followed suit with the pants, she heard a distinct crumple from the left pocket. Frowning, she reached in, pulling out a weathered piece of paper—folded and creased deeply from folding and unfolding. The side facing her was faded, the typed letters in Russian.

Laundry forgotten, Joyce opened the paper.

Dots, dashes, and slashes covered the opposite paper, from top to bottom.

Squinting at the paper, Joyce leaned against the washing machine, attempting to understand _what_ she was looking at.

_“But…how? I mean you trusted her to be on her own, in the woods Hop.” Joyce eyed him with confusion, stubbing out her smoke. “It’s not like you could have called her.”_

_“Morse code,” he answered, taking another drag, “over the radio.”_

_“You taught a twelve year old Morse code?” she uttered in complete disbelief._

_“It’s El—kid is like sponge. Absorbs everything, even the shit I don’t want her to know.”_

“Morse code,” Joyce’s eyes widened, she folding up the paper and tucking it into the front pocket of her flannel. Slamming the lid of the washing machine closed, she darted out of laundry room.

She had a teenage girl to talk to about Morse code.

* * *

“Your face,” El greeted the moment she saw Jim enter the living room, “your face…has no hair.” Her head tilted to the side, eyes roving over his face in sharp and intrusive examination.

The girl had been waiting for him in the living room while Joyce busied herself with the laundry.

The boys and Murray were nowhere to be found, but the sound of shuffling feet further down the hall alerted Jim they were indeed in the house.

He’d been planning on speaking with Murray and Joyce, hoping the two could come to an agreement on explaining how exactly he came back. His memory served a blank, and the longer Jim waited the more aggravated he became with himself. All the former journalist was able to tell him was his best bet on location, with some implication government experimentation was involved.

He expected Joyce to speak more on the matter, yet she left the bathroom once done, dodging any potential questions.

Jim wasn’t too sure what caused the shift; they’d been fine earlier. She’d given him a shave and haircut, he hearing her chuckle at his own stupidity as he griped about grooming. It was as though nothing changed, despite the weight in the room speaking to the contrary.

The older man shifted uncomfortably under the young teenager’s gaze. “Yes, I shaved it,” he stated slowly. “That’s what people are to do when their facial hair gets out of hand.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed, feeling patronized at the response.

“Never seen you like that,” she said pointing to his face, “It’s…weird.”

Now he narrowed his eyes at her, the two matching portraits of offense.

“You should grow it again,” El mumbled, curled up in the corner of the sofa, legs clutched to her chest. “Look more like Hop.”

“Kid, I am me,” he corrected, more harshly than he intended.

“No. You’re not,” she argued, chin stubbornly set on the tops of her knees. “Hop would have hair on his face. And watch _Dallas_ with me—”

“ _Dallas_ is a soap opera,” he mumbled with clear distaste.

“We like soap operas. We watch _Miami Vice_ on Fridays.” she stated matter-of-factly. “And we eat _Eggos_ together.”

“ _Eggos_ together?” Jim raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think I have ever eaten an _Eggo_.”

Her eyes darkened. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Jim braced himself for the worst, he’d seen first had what the kid could do. However, he knew that did not dissuade him; she was first a foremost a kid, and he knew it was highly unlikely she’d just disappear. He’d seen enough shit to know there was always a possibility she’d be out there.

That’s why he left _Eggos_ for her…and it must have worked if she was sitting before him, years later, looking like a normal kid.

After a moment, the girl still glaring at him, Jim realized the room remained intact. Lights did not flicker, nor did the world turn upside down with havoc.

Instead, El just sat there, small and fragile. Looking at him broken, yet determined. It was then he noticed her shirt—

One of his flannels. Long and massive on her lean frame. The sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, making her lanky arms look tiny.

Stepping into the room, one foot in front of the other, Jim watched her carefully.

“Um…don’t you have powers…?”

Her face fell. “No,” she murmured, “They’re gone.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Jim blinked at her, not quite expecting that answer. “What happened?”

She shrugged. “Just gone…like _you_.”

Well, that was a punch in the gut.

He hardly knew the girl, and she the right words to push his buttons. Practically an expert on poking Jim Hopper’s guilt nerve.

With a huff, she stood up from sofa and made her way past him into the kitchen. Curious, Jim followed her a few paces behind. He stood at the edge of the room, leaning against the wall as he watched her moved around the kitchen with practice.

Going to the refrigerator, she opened the top freezer half, grabbing a yellow box. The bright red _Eggo_ logo shined back boldly at him, as she opened the box. Frozen waffles were removed from their plastic wrapping.

She turned to him and held two up, “ _Eggo_ ,” she declared slowly, as though he were the child. “We like _Eggos_.”

“Right,” he muttered, humoring her.

She place each _Eggo_ in the toaster, and pressed the lever down. “We wait,” she informed him.

“I know the basic rules for making an _Eggo_ kid,” he said tiredly, only to receive another icy glare from the kid. “Okay, we wait,” he amended begrudgingly, not wanting to get further on her bad side.

She nodded once in approval, before resuming her work. A plate, a can of whipped cream, and various syrups and candy were soon laid out on the counter, the Eggo’s popping up from the toaster moments later. She set another pair of _Eggos_ into the toaster, setting the warmed up ones on the plate. Laying one down as the base, she drenched it chocolate syrup and sprinkled some M&Ms, adding a stripe of whipped cream. She continued this pattern adding various sugar infested snacks into the layering. When the last Eggo popped from the toaster, she placed it on top and smothered it with whipped cream.

Jim’s eyes enlarged at the sight.

He’d never seen an _Eggo_ quiet like that.

“An Eggo Extravaganza,” she said, lifting the plate and bringing it closer for him to see. She then handed him a fork. “We eat it together.”

“Uh—”

“ _Together_ ,” she ordered without room to argue.

Jim hummed in agreement, letting her lead the way back to the dining table. She sat down and motioned to the seat next to her, he hesitantly following her orders. With a butter knife, she cut the monstrosity into fours. Once done, she stuck her fork into a piece and took a large bite.

Her eyes then latched on to him, _waiting_.

“Oh, right.” He huffed, forking his own serving. Taking a bite, his mouth was full of whipped cream and a full crunch of M&Ms. Sweet and surgery, with more candy than waffle in each taste. Honestly a kids dream of a breakfast. “Mmm,” he nodded in appreciation, El’s focus still on him as she swallowed her food.

“Not as good as yours,” she confessed, “Yours are the best.”

“I made this,” he asked, pointing at the plate with his fork. A chuckle left him as he stared the _Eggo_ Extravaganza longer. “It does seem like something I would come up with,” he licked the whipped cream off his fork, “thought I think it needs some gummy worms to offset the sweetness.”

A budding grin teased at the corner of her mouth, the kid’s eyes alight at the comment.

Huh. Look at that. He did something right for once since arriving.

He made the kid smile.

As he reached for another forkful, the back door slammed open.

“ _El_!” Joyce called out, rushing through the house. Said girl shot up from her seat, Eggo forgotten. The older woman came to a stop once she spotted El and Jim together in the dining area, catching herself on the back of a chair. “El—can you read Morse code?” she asked, eyes shifting to Jim for a moment before remaining solely on the girl.

“Yes,” El said, eyebrows furrowed.

Joyce passed the paper over to the girl, urgency in her brown eyes. “I think your dad—Hop,” she stuttered, glancing at him apologetically, “was trying to tell us something.”

“I know Morse code—”

“No,” Joyce shook her head, sternly. El took the proffered paper, eyes squinting as she read the dashes and slashes. “Sorry Hop but…we don’t know if this could help of hinder you, and I’d rather have El translate it than you—because…because I have a feeling you wrote it for her.”

His eyes darted from one to the other, an unspoken conversation occurring between Joyce and El.

“Morse code,” El muttered, looking back down at the paper. “I know…I need paper and a pencil.”

Listening to the girl, Joyce went back to the living room. With El preoccupied with reading the paper, Jim followed Joyce, hoping to get some answers. He found her frantically digging through the sideboard.

“Why would I write in Morse code to the kid?” he asked, coming to her side.

“It’s how’d you communicate with her when you were on the job,” Joyce explained off handedly, “You taught her Morse code because you were protecting her.”

Finding a paper and pen, Joyce hurried back to El. She laid them before the girl, El writing the first few letters down the moment she grabbed the pen.

“For…Anne…Shirley,” El reads aloud as she finishes the first couple of words. “For Anne Shirley,” she repeated with more confidence.

“Who’s Anne Shirley?” Joyce asked, looking between the two, eyebrows furrowed.

“ _Anne of Green Gables_ ,” Jim and El answered, their words overlapping.

“A book—why would Hop,” he squirmed at the mention of himself, uncomfortable of how Joyce referred to him as though he wasn’t in the room, “write to you about a book?” She leaned over the paper, not noticing the intrigued look shared between Jim and El.

A sense of understanding passed from him to her, Jim recalling how he’d read _Anne of Green Gables_ to Sara all the time…oddly—and painfully—it made sense he’d do the same for El, if he considered her to be his daughter. Maybe even saw El in the character of Anne. A girl transplanted in a world she doesn’t quite understand, with societal rules she never learned until she was older.

“Is it code?” Joyce questioned, hands on her hips, looking at the two. “How did you even get paper—"

_He noticed the paper passed between the two officers. It went from the one giving him his daily bread, water, and undiscernible mush, to the other—the guy with the clipboard, marking and noting his condition with a pen._

_Grumbling at the sight of it, the officer read it swiftly, crumpling it in his hand._

_Nothing was allowed in his cell. Just the four walls, a toilet, and stiff bed with soiled sheets. Each of his meals were monitored by an officer, making sure he ate and drank every last bit. They were keeping alive for a reason—a reason Jim knew had to do with the government or their idiot scientists._

_He was vital information and a hostage._

_Unfortunate, but a better circumstance than others. Like the screams he heard as various prisoners were dragged to their deaths._

_Yet he kept hope things would turn out right._

_He had a kid back at home—a kid who needed him and his dumb ass._

_So when he noticed the paper—a slip of paper that would be enough to write a few meager words that could help should anything happen—Jim took his chance._

_He knocked the tray of food over, making a mess and dove for one of the men. The scuffle caused an uproar, the men knocking Jim back on his ass, adding a dislocated shoulder to a series of injuries acquired at his time there._

_Furious, the men left him, locking the cell once more. They’d probably refuse him food and drink for the next few days. A common punishment._

_Yet it was worth it when he noticed the crumpled paper and forgotten pen._

Jim barely heard the horrified yelps as he passed out, lack of sleep and food finally getting the best of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL US HOP??? YOU DONT EVEN KNOW DAMN IT.
> 
> Anyways, I really want some Eggos after this.
> 
> We'll see what the boys and Murray are up to next chapter.
> 
> Also, would you lovely readers like it if I made a Spotify playlist for this fic (all 80s jams of course) for you to enjoy while reading? 
> 
> EDIT 7/11/19: You can listen to the playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2RmqoBFnCIIuCIV4HvM9UJ)
> 
> It includes some 60s, 70s, and 80s music that I feel felt the tone of the fic or something out characters would listen to :D It will be added to over the course of the fic.
> 
> Let me know what you think! Comments and kudos are always appreciated; love discussing the fic with readers!


	4. Like Luke and Leia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typos will be fixed later!
> 
> FOR YOUR LISTENING ENJOYMENT, YOU CAN LISTEN TO THE FIC PLAYLIST [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2RmqoBFnCIIuCIV4HvM9UJ)
> 
> "Fast Car", "Longer", and "Labelled with Love" I think really capture Jopper vibes :) Also if you have a 60s, 70s, or 80s song you think give vibes of this fic, Jopper, or the characters, feel free to share in the comments :D
> 
> Enjoy :D

* * *

_“_ _Snow. Who knew snow would cheer the kids up?”_

_Jim looked back at Joyce. She fiddled with her scarf again, giving her hands something to do other than call for her son to pull his knit cap down tighter._

_But Will is fine._

_He is also fine despite the tight leash Joyce kept on him these days. Not that Jim blamed her, the pot calling the kettle black and all. El was still hidden by the safety of the cabin, spending her days playing_ Scrabble _and watching soap operas. Visitations were granted, the Wheeler kid the most common, followed by Will._

_While neither were exceptionally close with each other, Will and El got along. Common trauma did that to people, no surprise it’d forge a connection between two outcast kids._

_“Do you think it is too cold—”_

_“We spent colder afternoons in the snow when we were their age,” he said, interjecting before she could worry herself sick. “They’re fine.”_

_“I know,” she mumbled, picking up the thermos between them. Twisting off the cap, she drank a helping of hot chocolate before closing it back up. “It’s just…baby steps.” Hugging herself, she turned, looking up at him with her big brown eyes. “I let him go to the dance. I let him go to the Wheelers. I let him come here…I just can’t help but be close.”_

_From across the clearing, the two watch El chase Will with a crudely patted together snowball. Ducking and diving with fervor, joyous laughter echoed amongst the trees, their children truly delighted by something as simple yet charming as snow._

_For once they were normal._

_The sight caused his throat to constrict, emotion overcoming him for a fleeting moment._

_“Do you have plans for New Years?” Joyce questioned, her eyes still locked on Will and El._

_“Watching the ball drop with the kid,” Jim answered. “We didn’t get to it last year—she fell asleep around nine.” His eyebrows furrowed as he took a sip of the hot chocolate. “Why?”_

_“We don’t have much going on—Jonathan’s going to be with Nancy and I know some of the boys will be out of town,” she shrugged, making herself smaller, “why not come and spend it with Will and I?”_

_Blinking at her, Jim was at a loss for words._

_“We don’t do much. Mostly watching Dick Clark and eating snacks, but it’s fun and we wouldn’t mind the company.” She continued to sell the idea, her words jumbling together as though Jim would sat ‘no’ no matter what._

_“Sure,” Jim supplied before she backtracked on her offer. “The kid and I’ll come.”_

_Her smile broke through her lips. A warmth spread through his chest at the sight, the nipping cold long forgotten._

_That is until a snowball was thrown directly into his chest. Snow seeped into his jacket, Jim momentarily stunned by the random assault._

_“Hey!” Jim sputtered. His head shot up, he catching sight of the giggling duo. They froze at his shout, then dashed between the trees once common sense knocked back into them. “Get back here!” he called out, rushing after them half-heartedly._

* * *

“Do you think we should wake him?” Jonathan asked, staring down at the former Chief with concern.

When they heard Joyce yelp and El call out for help, Murray, Jonathan, and Will came running. Only to stumble to a stop once they found Hopper passed out on the ground, Joyce and El checking on him. Helping each other with some awkward maneuvering, Joyce and Jonathan were able to lug Hopper onto the couch.

The man remained unconscious throughout the whole debacle; a blessing and a curse.

Limbs sprawled, Hopper remained unmoving on the couch, his head lulling to the side. Their measly little couch was no match against his massive six-foot-three body, his legs hanging off the side in a slumped manner. Joyce at least had the mind to slip a throw pillow under his head to make him comfortable.

“He’s breathing and doesn’t have any head injuries,” Murray then corrected his statement at the dissatisfied and annoyed glare of El, “well no more injuries beside the obvious.”

“When was the last time he slept?” Jonathan asked, frowning down at the former chief. “I mean for him to pass out…” he winced, “it must have been some time.”

The silence following did not settle anyone’s concerns, no did it help when Murray’s face contorted into painful guilt. “I found him unconscious outside my door. The video feed read only a few hours. And he hasn’t been asleep since.”

“And how long was this?” Will felt the need to probe, hoping they’d all understand how much sleep deprivation they were to battle with poor Hopper.

“Eh, maybe three days ago?”

“Three days?”

“That’s not good.”

“Shit.”

Chorused bemoans of the three Byers filled the room, as all three were over come with various levels of worry and frustration. How could Murray just let Hopper walk around like zombie for three days? Joyce could not fathom it. What should have been done was taking Hopper to the nearest hospital, make sure he wasn’t malnourished, and check for any prolonged and lingering injuries by a professional. They should be doing that considering Hopper passed out—

_“I can’t trust anyone.”_

_“Now, Hop that’s not true,” Joyce nudged his shoulder._

_The two were in the kitchen having a smoke, the kids having a movie night together in the living room. Something about Dusting getting a copy of_ The Never Ending Story _and wanted the rest of Party to watch it. Hop and her sat with them for the first few minutes, but the moment they saw the puppet creature characters they excused themselves—they weren’t interested in seeing something like_ that _._

_Sitting in the kitchen with him, able to hear the kids just in the next room over, was an ideal evening if she had to pick. Everyone was close enough, which inevitably led to the topic of ‘baby steps’ with letting their kids live their lives._

_And Joyce was making more progress than she expected. She let her boy go off and spend the night at friend’s houses, pick back up his afterschool activities. Deep breaths and a glass of wine at night calmed her down enough to remember she could not keep her son to herself forever._

_He was growing. He was a boy—a kid, who deserved to have fun and not be haunted by his trauma._

_Hopper on the other hand…he was struggling with his ‘baby steps’. El’s adventures merely included the cabin and the Byer’s house. That was it. He loosened the reigns ever so slightly, allowing El’s friends to visit for as long as they wanted, but Joyce knew it’d eventually cause resentment between the father-daughter duo is Hopper wasn’t careful._

_However Joyce understood Hopper’s fears; she understood better than anyone._

_Sliding her hand over the table, she grasped his with a firm squeeze._

_“You can trust me. You know that right? If you or El every need anything, even if it is teen drama, you come to me.”_

—but of course he’d come here. To her. Doing exactly what she offered all those months ago because he felt he couldn’t trust anyone with El…or better yet he could trust anyone with himself other than her.

Apparently Murray was not a fan of the Byer’s judgement. “Well, sorry it took me a good few days of traveling to figure out WHERE THE HELL YOU ALL MOVED OFF TO!”

“He’s asleep!” Will cried out, on the verge of pulling out his hair.

“Why the move Joyce?” Murray then asked, he staring at her from his stance on the other end of the couch. “I can’t believe I am saying this but Jim-bo was unbelievably distraught at the news you moved.”

“Murray, I have _kids_ to think about,” she reminded him, eyes shifting over her three children. “Staying in Hawkins wasn’t good for us, and we all agree.”

The subtle shifting and drop of eye contact from Will and Jonathan clearly spoke otherwise, while El remained vigil beside Hop. The girl had been crouched by his side since they got him situated on couch.

“Come on, we could not have stayed there,” Joyce said, her voice raising a tinge as the boys refused to meet her gaze. “With everything going on—”

“Mom,” Jonathan spoke up, his eyes lifting from the ground, forcing himself to look at her, “we moved because you wanted to move.”

Joyce shook her head, arms crossed over her chest in defiance. “No, we discussed it and you all agreed.”

“Because what else were we supposed to do?” His words cracked, thoughts that must have been held back for some time coming to the surface. “You were grieving, you suddenly had El—” He glanced down at the girl who wasn’t paying attention to the conversation, focused solely on her father. “—and you wanted to leave because you thought it would make us feel better. So we said ‘yes’.”

Joyce recoiled at the brutal truth. Her eyes snapped to Will, who seemed to gain more confidence the longer his older brother spoke. “Is this true?” A silent nod answered her question. “Then why didn’t you say anything? Tell me you didn’t want to go—”

“Because you were hurting and we didn’t know what else to do, Mom!”

“Jonathan—”

“As much as I love a good family quarrel,” Murray interjected, obviously not fond of a ‘good family quarrel’ despite his words, “I’d like us to focus on the matter at hand—how Jim-bo is alive and not dead like we all thought!” He declared, staring each of the Byer’s down with a sharp, apathetic frown. “Yes, it is sad Joyce your children essentially lied to you, but children lie. And they lied for the sake of your ‘well-being’ because even they can tell you are helplessly in love with Jim to the point it is aggravating to be a bystander!”

“ _Excuse me_?” Joyce gaped at the man, ready to defend herself in every possible way for such a…base accusation. “I am not—It’s not like that—he and I—”

Why couldn’t she just say it? Say the truth that she knew for some time, some time before Hopper was gone. She probably would have if someone asked her less than twenty-four hours ago. Yet with Hopper passed out less than a two feet away from her? The words were impossible to cough out, caught in the space between her chest and her throat.

“My god, spare me!” Murray uttered, earning a loud eyeroll from Joyce. “That’s the reason why you left and your children did not have the heart to go against you! I had to drive from Illinois to Hawkins, then backtrack to get to this place!”

“ _Shut up_!” El’s cry barreled through the shouting match. “Shut up _!”_ Her fierce glare caused all the attention to be brought back to her. “Quiet,” she said for good measure. She pressed her pointer finger to her lips, eyes wide before leaning closer to Hopper. Only a few mere inches from his face, El turned her head, her ear close to his mouth. A moment passed, her face clouding. “He’s…mumbling.”

“What is he saying?” Will crouched down beside her.

Her eyes scrunching as she listened, she mouthing along to the words.

“He…he is saying…‘snow.’” She sat back on her heels. “Just ‘snow’.”

“Well,” Murray huffed, “that was anti-climactic.”

“No, no, this could help,” Will insisted, standing back up from his spot beside El, “Brains are tricky things…if he is dreaming about snow…maybe snow can help us bring his memories back.”

Joyce sighed, rubbing her neck. “Sweetie, that sounds farfetched. Just because he is dreaming of snow…I don’t think it can help us.”

Despite his mother’s less than optimistic comment, Will was not deterred. “No, think about it—snow has to be important if he is dreaming about it. Maybe something with snow can help him remember?”

“There is snow in Russia,” Murray muttered, entertaining the idea. “That could be the reason he is thinking about snow—”

“A Russia he doesn’t remember?” Jonathan said with a scoff. “I highly doubt it. If snow is important it’s important because of something else.”

The longer she listened to the rationalized and logical thoughts, the more Joyce began to see the possibility. “And it’s not like we can do anything until we gets his memories back.” Reaching into her back pocket, Joyce produced the wrinkled paper. “Hop wrote a note,” she held it out to the other’s, the Mores code side up, “it’s for El…that’s what we figured out so far. But it might take us longer to figure out considering we don’t have key for the Morse code and El only remembers so much.” She then winced, hugging herself closer, “Not to mention he wrote it in double code.”

“A note in double code?” Murray took the paper, he and Jonathan looking at it with a frown. “Morse code…I know it, but not well enough. We need to find a key, ASAP. It might not tells us the exact message, but it must be vital if Jim had the idea to double code it.”

“The library might have a book,” Jonathan said, already looking for his keys. “I can drive Murray and I there, pick up whatever else we need.”

Before Joyce her approval, the two were already heading out the door, Murray mumbling as he examined the note with scrutiny. Jonathan sent her one last frustrated but assuring small smile, closing the door behind him firmly. Her son was too caring for his own good.

Side by side, El and Will were sitting on the floor, sharing quiet glances with one another.

“Do you…do you want to try?” Will asked, his voice hush. “I know you haven’t done it since…” he swallowed. “And it was scary, but I think it might work if we do it together.”

El chewed on her lips, her entire boy tense as she considered the offer. Exhaling, she nodded. “Together.”

She held her hand out.

He clasped his left with her right, nodding once. “Together.”

“Doing what together?”

Joyce’s voice startled the two, the kids looking back at her with wide, fearful yet determined eyes. Her heart tugged at the sight, the two far too young to be entrapped by such pain and sacrifice.

“We need some blindfolds,” Will said, in a hurry.

Letting go of El’s hand, the boy rushed to the television. Flicking the switch, he turned the television on, twisting the knobs. Meanwhile El dashed about the room, shutting the curtains in a flourish. She hadn’t seen the two run with such urgency in months, most of the life seemingly sucked from them since last summer.

Pure static soon flooded the room, the dull glow of the television illuminating the dark space. The two crouched back down in their previous spot, El passing Will a handkerchief.

Blindfolds, white noise, darkness…

It clicked all too fast for Joyce.

“I thought your powers were gone.”

For months the girl tried and failed to restore her powers. Which led to El agonizing over her efforts, her inevitable downtrodden mood a product of her lack of progress. In the beginning, almost every afternoon, El would find a soda can and attempt to crush it with her mind. A practice form of sorts Joyce never quite understood but supported if it helped her daughter. Somewhere between the moving and settling into their new house, the soda can practice faded into obscurity.

Taking the girl’s actions for face value, Joyce wrote off the change as El adjusting to normalcy. Not the girl finding another means to practice her abilities.

Not bothering to spare Joyce a glance, El’s gaze locked with Will’s. Her son broke girl’s strong hold, a hint of an apology on his gentle face.

“They are…unless we work together,” he grasped El’s hand again, “Like Luke and Leia.”

“Like Luke and Leia,” the girl repeated, nodding once to him.

Together they wrapped the blindfolds over their eyes, his right hand clasping her left for dear life. A tether to this world and the void.

All Joyce could do was watch as her children once again risked themselves, her dormant guilt awakening.

* * *

His eyes snapped open.

All previous sound and surrounding were sucked from his subconscious presence.

Water lapped around him, soaking into his clothes. Shallow water, enough for his to breathe while laying down, like a perpetual puddle.

Blinking once then twice, Will thought there was something wrong with his vision. After a moment, he realized the void was dim and a vague long stretch of nothing. Haunting was the word he’d use to describe. While it was not as cold as when he’d been trapped in his own mind during the Mind Flayer’s possession, the odd chill in the void caused him to shiver.

Gradually he sat up, realizing his hand was still clasped with El’s.

“El,” he shook her shoulder with his free hand, “El, are you here?” His voice echoed with a patter across the void, going to nowhere and everywhere.

With another shake, her eyes opened, soft and slow. The transition from their world to void like a forgotten slumber for the girl. She sat up, holding his hand with an iron grip, like she always did. If there was one thing Will knew for sure about El, was she never did anything lightly or halfway. She loved with all her heart, she dedicated herself to her friends completely, and she sacrificed until there was nothing left to surrender. All or nothing—both a frightening yet comforting concept for the boy.

Together they stood, side by side as they walked on into the emptiness. Shoe clad feet clapped through the water, ripples emerging and running away across the surface.

“Think of Hop,” El reminded him with a mumble.

Listening, he kept his focus on Hopper as they continued their way through the void at snail’s pace.

Soon his eyes caught sight of a form. A few yards away laid Hopper on the couch, sound asleep. He remained unaware of them, a faint snore escaping him.

“Hop,” El stated as they came closer to him, “Hop, it’s me…El.”

Nothing happened, Hopper still sleeping.

“Maybe you should try calling him ‘Dad’?” Will suggested.

“I never called him ‘Dad’.”

“Then maybe now is a good place to start.”

Swallowing, El tried again, a hand hovering above her father’s shoulder. As though she were afraid if she touched him, he’d disappear. “Dad, it me. El…your…your daughter. We’re here to help you. To help you remember.”

In a flash, Hopper’s arm swung out, snatching El’s arm. “Why didn’t you find me El? I called out every day. Why didn’t you find me?” he voice rasped, Hopper very much awake, all fragile energy focused on El. A broken man barely kept alive by the thought of family; Will could see the frantic turmoil speeding in the man’s blue eyes.

El tense up, gaping at her father. Panicked tears flooded her eyes, she blinking at him as his words fully registered to her. Will, on the other hand, understood Hopper’s implications immediately. Biting his lips together, he ignored his own pain at the thought of the Chief calling out to his daughter day after day in hope she’s find him through the void. Because the good ol’e man thought she’d be okay, like any proud and caring parent. Unfortunately, he’d been wrong, much to all their detriment.

The only plus side to the void thus far was Hopper _remembered_ here.

He recognized El, told he her called for her.

Which meant somewhere, in his mind and subconscious, his memories were alive and well, not lost in the wind of brain mechanics.

Holding her hand harder and tighter, Will remained El’s anchor in the void. A reminder for her to be focused and grounded on the task before her, but he a subject willfully tugged along where she went.

“I need to see Dad,” El continued through her unforgiving tears, “I need to see…what’s in your mind…to _help_.”

Hopper’s grip remained on El, eyes searching her. A wave of longing and remorse washed over the man’s face, an exhausted acceptance and urgency left in its wake.

“Go then.” With great effort, he released her arm.

And the void went crashing into nothing—

Hopper gone, wisped away. Spans of black and emptiness swallowing them into a free fall of air and splashing water. Simultaneously, Will felt whole and gone, as though he were a mere fragment in a crumbling puzzle. Falling, forgotten, lost until solid ground found it’s way around him.

He awoke with shivers, sinking into a mound of snow in the middle of the forest. Tree looming from all sides, familiar…from a distant memory not his own.

Eyes heavy, Will found himself blinking up at a whirling sky. An unnatural mix of snow and rain pelted them from above.

Struggling to get up, he shoved himself up from the mound. Wet and slippery, snow covered with mud and twigs, Will was able to make it out without a some injury, just a mildly bruised ego.

It was then he noticed El no longer held his hand.

In fact…his sister was nowhere to be found.

Gone.

Just him alone…somewhere in Hopper’s mind.

“ _Oh shit_.”

* * *

She was running, running, and running.

Up and down corridors, through open steel doors. Up and down the stairs.

Wails and cries for home echoed wherever she went.

El had no idea where she was going, but knew the moment she heard the scramble of Russian words spoken less than a few feet away for her, she had to run away.

Run as far as she could.

_Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out._

But this…this wasn’t her running. This couldn’t be her running. She’d never been here before.

Where was she again?

_Down left through the right. Down left through the right. Down left through the right._

Her chest pounded. Her blood pumped. Each echoing in tandem in her ear drums, the rubber soles of her shoes slapping on the floor in silence. Her breath the soundtrack to her urgency.

_Eleventh door. Eleventh door. Eleventh door._

_Eleven_ —El.

Feet skidding to a stop at the eleventh door, she holding her hand out.

A creak and heartbroken whistle came from the steel, rusted door as it opened.

The throbbing of her body ceased at the sight of him on the other side.

Hopper.

Dad.

Locked away in a cell.

The forsaken grizzly beard covered his face, his body bruised and grimy as he’d been when he arrived on their lawn. Blindly, he paced the short length of the cell, mutterings falling from his hidden lips at every step.

“El… eggos. Will…colors. Mike…radio. Jonathan…camera,” he heaved a sigh, a rattled, soggy cough escaping him. “Joyce…date.” The words were broken awkwardly, before the cycle started again, a few new additions finding their way into the speech.

As though he was convincing himself to remember the little details about all of them. A shattering sentimentality El never once thought him to possess.

Stepping into the cell, El felt small. Smaller than she’d ever felt.

She could hardly imagine how her dad felt in the space.

“Time…so… much… time.”

Upon hearing the words uttered, El’s eyes snapped to the wall.

Tick marks. Dozens of tick marks.

Lifting her hand, she pressed her index finger into the shallow crevasse. Days, weeks, months…

He’d been there since…since Starcourt.

Maybe they’d been wrong the entire time. He wasn’t pulled by the rift like Murray thought.

Dad somehow survived and had been captured ever since.

El felt her gut sink at the truth. They could have saved him, brought him back sooner if she just…if she just knew how to tap back into her powers.

Like he said, he called her every day.

“El…If you are listening— _please be listening_ ,” his voice croaked, fresh tears marking a clean trail on his dirty face. “I…I don’t know where I am at…somewhere in Russia. Somewhere…I remember snow. So much snow before…before I blackout. Or they knocked me out. I don’t remember. It’s getting difficult to remember, seeing the same _fucking_ walls every day.”

Sobs consumed the cell.

Selfishly, she didn’t want him to remember this. Locked in a cell, crying for his family. Half a man, treated lesser than.

Shaking her head, she backed away until her back hit the wall. Sinking to the floor, her own quiet cries wept in harmony with her father’s.

* * *

Once all her finger nails were chewed to the nub, Joyce knew something was wrong.

The kids had been gone in the void for at least twenty minutes.

And the last she remembered, it took moments to come back.

Moments. Not minutes.

Something must have happened, and while Joyce was no scientific expert, she knew how to think on her feet and find those who could help.

Sparring one last glance at the kids, she left for the kitchen. Picking up the phone from the cradle, Joyce dialed the number of someone she knew would have solid information.

Putting on her most pleasant, and not a ‘losing her mind’ voice, Joyce greeted the other mother once the dial tone sounded out. “Hi Karen—are Mike or Nancy around? I need a little advice on…on a, uh birthday present for El.”

She squeezed her eyes shut on the ridiculousness of the question, exhaling when Karen called out for one of her kids. It wasn’t uncommon for the Byer’s to call the Wheeler’s, the matriarch of the family not prying to much at the occurrence.

“Ms. Byers?” Mike asked on the other end. “El’s birthday isn’t for another—”

“I know,” she interrupted hastily, “I know Mike. I’m not calling for a birthday present idea, I’m calling because I need to know how long El has ever been in the void?”

A sharp intake of breath sounded from his side. Dropping his voice lower, Mike asked “She can go back?”

“Answer the question, honey,” she ordered sharply, not in the mood to deal with the lovesick Wheeler.

“Uh…maybe five minutes...depends on where she is going, who she is looking for,” he paused, before probing, “ _why_?”

“I think we might have a problem.”

Rubbing her forehead, Joyce leaned back against the wall. She didn’t want the rest of the kids involved; she never wanted them involved. However, for better or worse, they were all connected to these damn conspiracies and oddities. Even moving away to the edge of the state did not put enough distance.

Hopper would have the answer. He’d figure out a way to keep the kids out, get El and Will to come back. But he was, unfortunately, the reason for their kids void adventure.

Not to mention the looming potential chaos waiting to erupt as they discovered more from their amnesiac man.

She didn’t have much of a choice here.

“How soon do you think you guys can get here?”

“For El and Will, as soon as possible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you are all probably discovering, nothing is mentioned on a whim in this fic and I made the prologue a little vague on certain matters for a reason.
> 
> "Like Luke and Leia." --was always going to make a comeback. Basically, El for SOME REASON can't go into the void unless accompanied by Will. What is that reason? Well for me to know, and for you guys MAYBE to eventually find out. 
> 
> But our poor kiddos are now lost in the depths of Hopper's mind. What's real, what's not real? What's a memory? And what is a dream? 
> 
> Yeah, they might not find a way out any time soon, ekkk.
> 
> And 'snow' is important. Anyone want to guess why?
> 
> AND THE PARTY! They might be making an appearance soon :)
> 
> Let me know what you think! Comments and kudos are appreciated; love discussing the fic with readers :D


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